Make the Most of This Test
by EponineOnMyOwnThenardier
Summary: A series of American Idiot oneshots. It will include various ships and a mixture of fluffy, angsty, and sad stories.
1. In a San Fran State of Mind

AN: Hey guys! Got a fluffy one shot for you now! I'm not really typically the fluff type of gal, so cherish this moment. Anyway, we've got a nice little Tunny/EG story here for everyone who ships that (which is most people, right?). I don't own American Idiot. I don't own these characters. I am not in any way associated with any of the casts of the show or the creative team. Enjoy and, as always, reviews are welcome.

Valerie still didn't know why she'd decided to take a Greyhound all the way across the country- or why she'd chosen San Francisco as her destination- but she was getting tired of it. She'd hopped on the bus as soon as her plane had touched the ground in D.C. She hadn't even taken the time to change out of her uniform, which was already getting her a load of unwanted attention from people who didn't support the war. She pulled out her iPod now, slipping the earbuds in and blaring a song, looking out the window in an attempt to block everything else.

When someone approached to take the seat beside her she ignored them at first. She had hoped to spend some of the trip without sitting beside anyone, but she knew D.C. was a larger stop and the bus was likely to fill. If she was lucky her new found companion wouldn't be traveling very far.

She paused her iPod and removed the earbuds, starting to get annoyed with how long this person was taking. No one else was boarding, so the driver must be waiting for them to sit down. "If you could please just hurry with-" she broke off as she turned to look at the man standing there. He was also in an army uniform, leaning heavily on a cane, at the same time attempting to store a backpack in the overhead luggage. She could feel her face getting hot as she stared at this man, clearly just back from Afghanistan, clearly wounded in the war. He seemed familiar to her… She pushed the thought away, standing. " I'm sorry. I'm really very sorry. Let me help you." She stowed the backpack in the overhead container for him, giving an apologetic look, then dove back into her seat, fumbling to get her iPod started up once more. This would be a long trip. This would be a very very long trip.

It had been almost 24 hours. Valerie was still awake, reading in the glow of the small book light she brought with her, while the man beside her slept. The slumber as far from peaceful. He tossed and turned violently, letting out the occasional whimper. PTSD. As an army nurse, she recognized it. She knew, of course, that the nightmares weren't enjoyable, but she had no plans to wake him up, not right now. She was sure he was still healing, and rest would help with that.

Besides, he didn't need her to. Within a few minutes he was awake, exploding into screams and cries. She instantly pulled him into her arms, ignoring people who glared or directed comments to him, and rubbed his back, only vaguely surprised as he clung to her, hiding his face in her shoulder. She continued to try to soothe and console him, mumbling gently. "It's okay. You're alright. You aren't over there anymore. You're in America now. You're going home. " Eventually his sobs subsided into sniffles and he slumped against her shoulder.

"What's your name?" She asked in a whisper, earning an odd look from him.

"You were my nurse, " he informed her, getting only a blank expression in return. "Tunny. Nathan. Nathan Sands?" After a moment recognition flickered in Valerie's eyes and he nodded. "That's me."

It'd been weeks since she'd seen him. Once he was stabilized they'd shipped him off to Germany to receive his prosthetic and the therapy he would need with it. She was truly shocked that she was seeing him again.  
"You're going to Oakland, right?" Another nod. "But the last stop's San Fran."

"It's just a short cab ride from there."

"Oh. Okay…" She fell silent for a long moment. "How's everything with the leg?"

"It's…." After a long silence she felt his response in the form of a shrug.

"It's what?"

"It's weird…" He sighed. "Sometimes at night I take the prosthetic off and forget it's not there. Sometimes I feel the pain still."

"Phantom pains," she remarked with a reassuring look. "Totally common."

He didn't say anything for a long moment, closing his eyes, and she thought maybe he'd gone to sleep again. Until he mumbled, " I never got your name."

"Valerie."

He smiled sleepily. "Pretty name…" And with those words he was asleep again.

They were two days into the trip now. At each stop the amount of passengers fluctuated. Often seats emptied and they could be alone, if they so choose. Rather, Valerie and Tunny stayed together, honoring some unspoken agreement. She wasn't sure why. Perhaps because she knew how to handle his nightmares and he didn't want to disturb anyone else. Perhaps because of the number of people who disapproved of the war and their desire to avoid confrontation. Or maybe it was that she had been his nurse and they trusted each other. She didn't know why, but she did know that she was enjoying his company.

She was climbing back onto the bus now. They'd had a stop to get food and she'd volunteered to get it for both of them after realizing at the last stop just how much trouble he had exiting and reboarding the vehicle. She made her way down the aisle and moved carefully around him to get to her seat, starting to remove the food from the bag and pass his to him. When he tried to pay her for it, she shook her head, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

"Alright," he commented when he realized she wasn't going to take the cash, "but I'm buying next time." He put the money back in his pocket and took the food from her.

"I think I can live with that," she replied with a grin.

Chuckling, he began to eat, silence stretching between them for several moments. She began to search for her iPod, finding the lack of sound more unnerving than she'd like to admit.

"You left it on the seat." She turned to Tunny, who was now holding the iPod out to her.

"Thanks." She took it back from him and slipped it into her pocket as they began a conversation on their apparently similar tastes in music.

Their trip was coming close to an end. It had gone faster than Valerie expected. In 24 hours they would reach San Francisco.

"You got family there?" Tunny asked her in a whisper as he shifted slightly, head resting on her shoulder. She found herself leaning her head against his. The other passengers were mostly asleep, but they chose to stay awake, quietly conversing.

She shook her head in response to his question. "Nope."

"Got plans?"

"Not really."

He sat up straight now, looking at her. "Why'd you choose San Fran?"

She thought about it for a second before shrugging. "It's what I do, I guess. I get back, I pick some place to go, and I see what there is to see until I'm needed back overseas."

"What about your friends?"

"I've always kept to myself. There isn't exactly anyone to miss me." She noted his frown at that and turned to lean her head against the window, letting the conversation die. Seemed like he had something on his mind.

"Valerie." She could feel herself being shaken and woke, eyes fluttering open and darting around in confusion before they landed on Tunny.

"What is it?" She mumbled with a yawn.

"We're here."

She turned to look out the window and couldn't stop a frown. The journey was over then. They'd be going their separate ways. She stretched and stood up, pulling his bag down and handing it to him.

"You excited to see your friends again?"

"Mostly nervous," he admitted as he watched her grab her own bag.

"Don't be. They'll be glad to have you back."

"I hope you're right." By this point they had exited the bus and were making their way to the front of the station where a long line of cabs stood waiting.

"Well, this is it then. Take care of yourself Tunny." Valerie stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek and was surprised when he turned his head, pressing his lips momentarily to hers instead. He flashed her a sheepish smile when she pulled away and she could feel her cheeks flush. "I should go. Goodbye."

"Right…Bye…" He watched in silence as she walked away, toward one of the cabs. She was opening the door and sliding into the backseat by time he found his ability to call out. "Val,wait!" She paused, turning to look at him, and he hurried over. "You don't have any plans, right?" She shook her head. "No friends or family in San Francisco?" Another head shake. "Then come back with me."

For a moment silence hung between them as she pondered his proposal, pondering a reason to say no. Her gaze traveled up until their eyes met, and finally, she nodded. "Alright," she replied, getting into the cab and sliding into the far side of the seat. Tunny flashed a grin, getting in beside her. Thank God she chose to take that Greyhound.


	2. Retribution

_AN: This one's kind of dark. It, of course, contains some adult language. It also contains talk of death and suicide. It's not detailed or graphic, but if it could be a serious trigger then you may want to skip this one. As always, don't own American Idiot, don't own the characters; no association with Green Day, Tom Kitt, Michael Mayer, or any of the actors from any of the casts. Although, I've probably met some of the actors or someone who knows them or someone who knows somebody who's worked with them at some point or something…. _

_Fuck._ His head fucking hurt. Johnny was waking up now, feeling the pulse of a migraine behind his eyes. Was he on the floor? What had even happened? Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position and opened his eyes. As dim as the room was, the traces of light still hurt and he needed a few minutes to adjust.

Most of the scene before him was normal. His guitar sat on the floor to one side of the bed and a lighter, turnicate, syringe, spoon, and little baggie of white powder sat beside him. So he was going to shoot up. Had he blacked out because of the withdrawals? Had it really been that long? …Well, no matter, that was an easy fix. He reached over quietly, picking up the stretch of rubber. He could find the vein well enough without one now, but he'd rather not fuck something like this up. He brought the turnicate to his arm, setting it against the flesh a few inches above the bend of his elbow and brought his arm close to his face, using his teeth to help secure the ends.

That's when he froze. His hands were covered in blood. So was his shirt. His brow knit as he lifted the clothing over his head, checking his torso for any wounds. He was fine. So then whose was it?

Johnny stood, still disoriented, and looked around the room. His eyes locked on a figure on the bed and he could swear he felt his heart skip a beat. It couldn't be hers, could it? She couldn't be hurt. He couldn't have hurt her.

He moved to sit on the edge of the mattress, taking in the scene. It was her blood. No doubt about it. The women's face was hidden, partially buried in the sheets, the rest concealed behind her mess of curls. Fingers shaking, Johnny reached out and pushed her hair away from her face, letting his hand brush against her skin. It was cold.

"Fuck." His voice came out shakily, at least an octave higher than usual. "Fuck…Just…Shit…God fucking damnit…" Staring down at her face, at the expression frozen there, contorted with pain and fear, he could feel tears running down his own cheeks. He was a monster. He was a fucking monster and he fucking knew it. He couldn't even remember her name and he'd killed her. And for what? What had she done to deserve this? To have her life ended so early… She couldn't be more than 26, right? She probably had an ID somewhere, Johnny could know both her name and age, but he couldn't move right now.

Fighting back sobs, he stroked her cheek. She would always smile when he did that… God he wished she would smile. Move. Tell him it was some elaborate prank. Wished he could rub warmth back into her flesh and then she'd open her eyes and tell him that she only wanted to see him freak. But she wouldn't. She was dead. That's why he skin was cold. That's why she didn't move and when he placed his fingertips against the side of her throat he couldn't feel her pulse beneath them.

Another round of sobs tore through his body. He hated himself. He truly did. All he could do was destroy. This was proof. He'd carelessly wrecked the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on, the only thing that set this blaze alight inside of him. And now?

His eyes drifted, catching a glint on the bed. There it was. The knife. Covered in her blood.

Now he was going to avenge her. He was going to crush the monster who did this. He didn't care that he was that monster. It only made him more angry, more desperate to get revenge. His hands shook as he picked up the knife, taking deep breaths, but he didn't drop it. He was ready to take his spot in Hell. That's what he deserved, wasn't it? For slaughtering an angel? Shaking his head, a dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. She was right. About a lot of things. He was an idiot. He wasn't the Jesus of Suburbia. He was far from Jesus. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she'd never thought he was cute. Maybe she just knew he was full of shit.

Whatever. It didn't matter. He lowered his knife to one of his wrists, felt the cold metal pressing against his skin. For a moment he couldn't do it. He knew it was going to hurt. He didn't want to feel that pain. He'd been avoiding pain for so long. And then he looked over at her, saw the pain permanently etched on her face. And then he could.


End file.
